


Maybe

by newtandthediamonds



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Bill Denbrough, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Baseball Player Bill Denbrough, Consensual Sex, Crush at First Sight, F/M, I would like to apologize in advance for the “big bill” dick jokes, Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, bill and y/n are immediately head over heels for each other, richie is a flirt, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 04:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtandthediamonds/pseuds/newtandthediamonds
Summary: Bill plays baseball on his college’s team and runs into a woman on the field after a game ends.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this I would greatly appreciate it if you left a comment or kudos! Thank you for reading.

Bill doesn't know how he got himself into this situation.

The night had managed to go from playing a game of baseball for his college's team to fucking a person he just met against the chain-link fence in the dugout.

He was a little antsy before the game today. A lot of the time he finds it hard to keep himself settled in one place in the hours leading up to a game and Richie was teasing him for pacing around their dorm room. He tried everything he could to keep his nerves in check; cleaning his side of the room, starting a paper he's been neglecting all weekend, cleaning  _Richie's_  side of the room (which looked like a tornado had gone through it), and even taking a shower simply to pass time even though he knows he'll just sweat and get all gross post-baseball game tonight.

"Dude, what the fuck is up with you? You're acting like you crushed up my Adderall and snorted it."

He was laying on his bed, back flat against the twin mattress that barely fits his tall body—he has to curl his legs up at night or else they'll dangle off the end of the bed—and his foot was bouncing so much it made an incessant tapping noise on the wall. Richie would be a hypocrite to call him out on being annoying when the trashmouth himself has always been his fair share of irritating with his endless naughty jokes that tend to get a bit old at times, but it would be a lie for the curly headed twenty-year-old to say the noise didn't bug him.

"I'm nervous about the game tonight. It's r-ruh-really important that we win this one and I fucking sucked in practice the other day," Bill said with a hard sigh falling from his lips, chest deflating with the dramatic exhale.

Rich sat up on his bed and raised his eyebrows at him curiously. His friend seldom "sucks" at baseball. He started playing in middle school and has had a passion for it ever since, spending hours each day at practice working hard for a scholarship to college. All of his friends are in awe watching him in his element. So it's a bit surprising to hear that he wasn't good in practice. He had to take this with a grain of salt though since the skilled player is known to be a bit hard on himself and insecure at times.

"You're being overdramatic, you're the best person on the team and everyone knows it. You kick ass out there all the time."

This just made Bill roll his eyes. He doesn't come close to seeing himself in such a way. The initial reason he played was because he had fun doing it, loved it, and that never changed despite the responsibility of it all now that he's grown up. It isn't about being the best it's about not being so tightly wound.

He stood up quickly, the cheap mattress creaking loudly with the sudden movement, and exhaled slowly, his head tilted back to the ceiling. It's fun, but it's stressful. As of late, it's been getting in the way of his passion for writing and making it difficult to blow off steam that way as well, which only makes him more tense and distressed on a daily basis. Not being able to write...it's like taking away his ability to breathe.

"No, I mean-it's not just about that. I suh-sucked the other day, but I've been ridiculously stressed and I'm always n-n-nervous when there's a game soon. It's so stupid," He said.

Then his beloved trashmouth said something so out of the blue, had it been someone other than the sex-obsessed man he's known since kindergarten he would've given an incredulous look.

"You need to get laid."

He scoffed and waved his hand at him dismissively, deciding to focus his gaze on the album covers plastered across Richie's wall than look him in the face. Sex is definitely not an uncommon topic for them. For god sakes, anytime Richie comes home from a night with someone he tells his friends all about it-specifically tells Bill all of the details he could've lived without knowing. Neither of them are shy on the topic of it, but he simply isn't in the mood to talk about his sex life in any way right now.

"No, I'm serious. You need to get fucked, you're so tense I can literally fucking see the knots in your muscles from here."

"Fucking won't fix this, Rich, come on-"

But then Richie went on a five minute rant about how it's scientifically proven that frequent orgasms can lift the mood and decrease stress. Despite his title as resident class clown of their group of losers, he's the smartest of them all and is easily the most educated. He went into the scientific background of why it makes you feel better not only physically but emotionally while all he and Bev chalk it up to when they talk about how great sex is is; a good orgasm = one hell of a good day. When he heard him start talking about the oxytocin chemical being released in the brain after climax, he started to tune out.

It is a great thing to do when he's feeling distressed because well-Richie wasn't wrong. While not all orgasms are created equal, any one can relieve stress to a certain degree, it's science. That's why he finds himself hooking up more during stressful or emotional times of the year for him, to search for some kind of outlet or solution to those feelings. It wasn't a bad proposal by any means.

"You tell me this all the time, R-Rich, I already know," Then he goes into his best imitation of his close friend, putting a pair of sunglasses on his face to mimic the thick-lensed pair of eyeglasses resting on Richie's face, " _Dude, oxytocin is released into the b-brain when you c-cuh-come, science supports our dirty needs. They're practically encouraging us_."

The stuttering got in the way of how truly spot on the impression was, but the trashmouth cackles at it anyway.

"Go fuck someone, Big Bill, I'm serious. If you don't do it, you're being irresponsible. If you have no options just fuck me. Scientists want you to, are you really going to turn your back on the educated men and women of our world-"

"Beep beep, Richie!"

-

He played exceptionally well, as he always does.

The team counts upon him a lot for the time to live up to his reputation as one of the best shortstops in their state and he didn't disappoint one bit. It eased that anxiety that had bubbled up inside of him earlier in the day, the anxiety Richie told him to fuck out of his system; which he promptly ignored.

But all in all, it went well. Except he didn't notice a pair of eyes following him the entire time.

-

Y/N usually goes to her school's sports games to pass time while typing up an essay for her literary history class. Most of the time it's a swim team meet to support her friend Stan or track meets because she likes the sport, but recently she's been meaning to go to a baseball game since it's one of the more hyped up sports at the school and she has a paper to do that she's been procrastinating all weekend long in favor of hanging out with Stan. He introduced her to his best friend Beverly yesterday. They became friends early in the semester when they crossed paths at an activities fair where they were both trying to find some club or recreational sport to fill their time. Neither of them ended up with a club to go to and instead left with a new friend to spend free time with.

It's odd that it took her this long to cross paths with Bill Denbrough considering the fact that she now knows two of his best friends. But Stan likes to keep some things private and his other friends can be some of those until they get a bit closer.

It may be absolutely pathetic and filthy, but damn her if she didn't instantly feel desire pool in the pit of her stomach for the stranger the first time she sees him walk out onto that field. It's something about the way he carries himself and the smile he cracked at his teammate when they said something that must have been funny-she's too far away to hear. (And then it was the ungodly design of those fucking baseball pants, that she swears must have been designed for the sole purpose of accentuating that amazing ass). You know when you meet someone and immediately feel a strange kind of sexual connection or attraction to them? Well she does. She saw him and there was an instant image of that head of auburn hair between her legs. It made her blush so much that the old woman next to her offered her water, mistaking her embarrassment at her dirty thoughts for being overheated in the scorching heat of direct sunlight.

This isn't usually how she is. In fact, it rarely happens. But there's something about him...she has to press her legs together to temporarily relieve the ache he unknowingly caused.

Bill steps up to bat, his face flushed and coated in a thin layer of sweat, and rolls his neck to the side to crack the stiff bones there before stepping into the batter's box.

It makes her feel, for lack of a better word, like what her aunt would have called a slut. She grew up in a house with the horrid woman and was once caught making out with a boy in the tenth grade. She called her a whore. So it's safe to say that she's been breaking out of that mindset instilled on her from a young age. It seems, to her, that people can't let girls and women breathe without having a problem with them. She has to correct herself when she thinks this way, when she condemns herself for lusting after a hot guy or girl she finds herself attracted to. Attraction, whether sexual or romantic, is so incredibly normal. It makes her frown whenever she finds herself shaming herself for it.

But that doesn't seem to be a problem as she watches him prepare to bat. Because,  _holy shit_ , she can't tear her eyes off of him. This whole time she's been practically drooling over a man she doesn't know and now he's standing much closer to where she's been sitting this whole time and she doesn't know what to do with herself.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to expose his forearms and that alone is enough to make her fawn over him endlessly; the muscles in his arms flexing as he shifts the bat in his hands, lifting it up into place a few seconds after. Dirt and sweat coat his skin, which is mostly pale but the slightest bit bronzed and pink from his constant time outside. She can't help but lean forward slightly, legs now crossed as if everyone around her would be able to sense how aroused she is if they weren't, and watch him in shock. Now she can see the number and name on his back, **Denbrough, 24**.

He wins the game for them with that last hit, sprinting off the batter's box faster than most eyes can catch him and earns his team what they sought after.

For a while afterward, the crowd takes their sweet time filing out of the stands and the players pack their bags up in the dugout. Y/N packs her own bag up and slings it over her shoulder, accepting the fact that she wasted precious paper writing time to stare at an unbelievably hot baseball player the entire afternoon. It wasn't her intention to run into him, she had accepted the fact that he was a stranger and she was a person in the stands he didn't even see let alone express interest in, but they end up crossing paths an hour after the game is over once everyone has left the baseball field.

She was walking along the edge of the field, near the batting box, to get off the property when a voice pulled her attention from her thoughts centered around that alluring stranger.

"Y-You shouldn't be on the field."

His voice doesn't make her recognize him, since she never heard it and her back is turned to him.

Y/N stops in her tracks and doesn't turn, opting to just say, "I was leaving. I'm sorry, I'll hurry out."

Bill frowns at the way she sounded, worried that she'd get in serious trouble for something like trespassing or a serious offense that wouldn't at all happen in their situation. He looks at his feet sheepishly, building the strength he needs and focusing on what he wants to say as to not stutter.

"I'm not trying to be a d-d-d-dick, I-my coach might still be here, I'm not sure, and he'd be angry. J-Just looking out for you, I'm s-sorry."

The air is warm around them, the May air humid and thick as it clings to their skin. He hates the heat with every piece of him, so he's been pretty hell-bent on getting home since the second they won the game. Eager to plop into bed after a cold shower, maybe smoke a blunt with Richie, and then have a nice long sleep through the night in celebration of the win. His bag is zipped by now, but he's still in his uniform. He prefers to shower and change when he gets to his room rather than use the locker rooms that gross him out.

Y/N smiles at that.

The sound of his voice is smooth like honey, that calm smooth feel only interrupted by his stutters here and there. He sounds like a sweet person. He kind of reminds her of when she met Stan for the first time. They ran into each other, literally ran into one another, and dropped all of their stuff. He was so sweet about it and overly apologetic. He almost came with her today but had work to do.

"No, it's fine. You don't have to apologize, I should have gone out another way-"

 _Fuck. Holy fuck,_  she thinks to herself, _it's the guy holy shit_. Her brain practically short-circuited when she turned around to see the person she was practically eye-fucking the entire baseball game standing a few feet away. He's better looking up close too and it turns her core molten with arousal. His hair looked more brown from far away but up close she can see the red in it clearly and he stands taller than she is. He must be at least five eleven, if not six foot or taller.

It comes to her attention that she halted mid-sentence and started staring at him like some kind of lunatic. And based on the slightly worried expression crossing his face at her wide eyes, she's sure he now thinks her one.

"Uh, sorry, I lost my train of thought," Y/N quickly stammers for her voice and fails to keep her eyes off him no matter how hard she tries, "Don't apologize. You're right, I shouldn't have gone out this way. Sorry if I bothered you or anything."

She adds on as if it could help the situation, "You were really great out there today."

The words that absentmindedly slipped out made her want to bury her face in the palms of her hands. He's not even doing anything but standing in the entryway of the dugout and he's flustering her. Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her denim jacket that's tied around the waist of her dress.

Bill feels a little lightheaded and foolish himself upon seeing such a beautiful woman stumble onto the baseball field a whole hour after the game ended. Most people leave instantly, eager to beat traffic on the way out the doors, so it was a shock to see her. It was even more of a shock when she turned around. He swallows a lump in the back of his throat at her.

"Thanks. And, you know, he probably isn't here I was just...just-I don't know-trying not t-t-t-tuh-"

The stutter instantly worsened when she spun around and flashes those gorgeous eyes at him, her lip curled into a smile that instantly made his heart quicken its pace. Bill takes a deep breath, breaking for a moment, but she doesn't miss a beat.

"Trying not to get kicked off the team?" She tries.

It's in this moment, that it occurs to him that this may be fate rearing its ugly fucking head at him. More like Richie actually. The same day he's bugged by his best friend about the scientific advantages of getting laid, being urged on his way out the door to "get some, if not for you then for my peace of mind", he happens to run into this random woman walking along the side of the baseball field he so happened to be on.

There are a few things he could do. He could leave; which isn't too awful of an idea. After all, every time he gets a win, Richie buys a pizza, puts on the tv and they smoke weed together which sounds like a night he could really use. He could stay and talk with this girl for a few minutes, ask for her number, then leave to go eat pizza, watch tv, and then smoke a blunt. Or he could stay and pull out all the stops and by the grace of God, hopefully, end up getting laid by this stranger. Who's to say he can't have sex with her, if she even is into him which in his mind is a slim chance, and then go chill with his friend...he nervously begins to tap his foot...worth a shot.

There's a slight breeze that blows a tendril of hair away from her face and that sunlight hits her skin perfectly. She's practically glowing.

"Yeah, s-suh-sorry about the stutter too. It gets worse when I talk to beautiful women."

That makes her abdomen go hollow with pure, undiluted desire. At first, she has to pause and pour over what he said in her mind twice, thrice, four times, a million times until the words sound foreign.  _It gets worse when I talk to beautiful women, it gets worse when I talk to beautiful women, it gets worse when I talk to beautiful women._ Did he really say that? Did that absolute, in her own opinion, hot Adonis of a guy she's been eyeing for the last three hours really say that? She's used to being hit on. It's college, she's a  _woman_ , and young guys and girls are filled to the brim with hormones, stress from constant work, sex is something that happens all the time in college. It's only shocking because she never expected to see him again let alone talk to him.

Y/N smiles, face going completely red (and not from the heat), and looks over to him. The distance between them is only a few feet and she feels like it's a mile now that he said that.

"Did you just hit on me?"

The sound of her sweet voice makes him want to surrender in some way. It's the kind of voice that could comfort him in times of sadness it seems. He likes the way she sounds. The way she says things (and it may also have a small bit to do with that pretty mouth of her's).

But the sentence worries him at first, making him wonder if he should profusely apologize for possibly offending her or making her uncomfortable. Of all the times Bev has complained to him about guys coming on too strong, he just wasn't thinking when he said it. Didn't remember that most women probably get a bit scared at a man hitting on her when they're all alone in a baseball field with no one to hear her possibly scream should she be in distress. It's happened to girls he's friends with. Once, he beat the shit out of a guy for harassing Beverly. The man wouldn't back off, so he and their friends kept a close eye on him and tried to intervene many times. When he spotted him drop something in her drink when she looked away, he yanked him off his barstool like a rag doll and beat him to a bloody pulp with the help of Ben and Mike. That guy was knocked out cold in seconds, but it didn't stop him from beating his ugly face in. He has no sympathy for abusers of any kind, so he feels the need to say sorry for hitting on her like that, with such little introduction. It feels a bit full-on now that the words are out and he's hearing them over in his head.

"Maybe," Bill offers as nonchalant and smooth as he can force himself to be, the offer in his tone hopefully clear, and is ready to cringe if it goes horribly.

The offer; stay, talk, maybe kiss and leave with each others' numbers if she's up for it. There obviously doesn't have to be sex. Obviously, he'd never expect sex from a stranger or even a girlfriend, no matter how far they've gone. But, to him, she's one of the most gorgeous women he's ever seen and he likes the way she talks. He likes her sweet smile and the sound of her voice, like a breeze of relief amid this hot spring sunset. There's an urge to be near to her that was instantaneous. Connections like these are always so surprising and they only happen to him every so often.

Much to his surprise, her smile widens, making his stomach go light and fluttery, and she starts to walk into the dugout past where he stands in the entryway.

The number of rules he's breaking with her right now in simply allowing her in here and letting her stay on the field long after the game ended is unreal, but right now his logical side is being clouded by his own thoughts and the ones Richie planted about sex in his head before he left the room. Point being; fuck his coach, fuck the rules, he just successfully hit on this stranger and she's  _into it_. He gains his composure.

"You go to college here?" Bill asks lamely in desperation to keep this conversation going as long as possible.

Her responding hum sends his foot tapping anxiously again. The sound of her own footsteps as she surveys the small rectangular room is light and her back is turned to him. While she isn't looking, he stares unashamedly. Every pumping beat of his heart surges with unrelenting desire. He usually isn't so helpless when it comes to wanting to be with someone. Usually, he has a handle on his feelings and needs. With her, after such a small amount of time, he feels magnetically drawn to her. He blames it on hormones and the biological urge to reproduce, trying not to admit that, though he's respectful and kind, he's a desperate, horny little fuck and his friend had him thinking about sex the entire fucking game.

The sound of him walking down the few steps to the floor of the dugout almost makes her turn around.

Instead, she turns her head enough to look at him from the side of her eyes and say a soft, "Yes."

It takes a few seconds for her to think in the midst of the awkward silence that follows, of what to say or do, why she's even here, if she should jump at the chance to possibly get his number or maybe even take him home, or if she should get out of here.

It's almost involuntary, but she decides to stay and talk to him.

"I'm majoring in English," A pause, "I really love literature. Writing, mostly, but reading as well."

He almost bursts at this.

Bill is a bit too excited sounding and first and forces himself to calm slightly as he continues "M-Me too! Uh-I love baseball, but I'm really trying to be an author. Baseball is what kind of got me into college but, I'm not really wanting to go pro."

"Hmm."

The sound sets him on edge. Disapproval? Approval? Was it a sound of her being impressed or unimpressed? He wants to rip his own hair out at how ridiculous he's being rendered by some random girl that wandered onto his baseball field.

Bill is startled when she turns around and meets his gaze, not expecting to be caught staring so fast.

"What?" He murmurs curiously, at her stare, her 'hmm', all of it.

It's the way she steps up close to him as if challenging him, daring him, and pushes her thumbs into the loop where her jean jacket ties around her black dress; feigning aloofness. In reality, her mind is going batshit crazy. Thoughts dart through her brain like rapid fire bullets and she had to turn around at first, pretend to look interested in the layout of the room to pull herself together. He flirted with her and she'd be an idiot to screw up the chance with him. For crying out loud, she got so turned on when she saw him out in that field, that poor old lady mistook her flushed face from sexual arousal for heatstroke.

Y/N fights the instinctive waver in his voice, "Nothing, I forgot what I was gonna say. When it's hot out and I'm tired I get spacey," suddenly she puts on a convincing slight smile of confidence and says, "it gets worse when I talk to beautiful men."

And that's  _it_  for Bill. At this point, she could ask him to transfer a million dollars into her checking account and he'd try to find a way to obtain that obscenely high amount of money and give it all away. Similarly to how hard she'd been lusting for him up on those stands, a laptop she didn't type a single word in shut after the first few minutes he was out on the field, there's an involuntary image of them together in his dorm room, their limbs tangled up in his sheets and their bodies bare. He shifts a bit uncomfortably in his pants, hopelessly trying not to get hard in front of her. If he does it will be the end of him.

Then, her words break him from his trance, "This place is really empty after games isn't it?"

Y/N wants to scream at herself and her completely obvious implications. Bill though, is clueless and doesn't know if she'd ever mean it the way he would had he been the one saying it. He wouldn't believe that she'd mean it that way; mean that the place is empty enough for no one to see them, hear them...His thoughts are a broken record;  _There's no way, no fucking way. Fuck off, Bill, she doesn't wanna have sex with you. You're just horny and pathetic._

But she does mean it that way and it surprises even her. There have been fantasies she's had of hooking up with someone, no attachments, no nothing, just a hot stranger and a spark of passion, but she's never done it or tried to do it.

It was a rush of confidence and courage; a now or never attitude. That's typically how he looks at opportunities with relationships or sex. He tries to go for broke a lot, be honest, and lay all his cards on the table. It sometimes works, sometimes fails.

"It is," Bill counters back in a voice that's a little lower than the one he usually speaks in, his pants feeling even tighter than they already are, "Everyone likes to get out as fast as they can once it's over. Traffic, crowds, you know."

She quirks her head to the side. Everything feels so fast and crazy underneath that stellar mask of calm. If she weren't so set on keeping her external appearance relaxed and chill, she'd be freaking out.

The space between them surges with tension.

"Why'd you stay? It was an hour after it ended, why not celebrate your win with your girlfriend?"

A question laid precisely for her own knowledge. At this point, she's ready to be brave and ask him out, maybe even just kiss him, so she wants to know if he's taken first to at least respect him and his possible partner. It's getting harder to ignore the need that is pooling in her core from being near him. He hasn't even touched her yet and she's already turned on. To be fair, those baseball pants are unfairly tight and he has a great ass, they people designing those were plotting her death.

It's a game they'll play, for now, to test the waters and feel each other out. Clueless Bill doesn't even know he's doing it, but he's playing along.

"I don't have a g-girlfriend," He shrugs, then quickly stammers, "Or boyfriend...maybe I stayed because I was supposed to run into you."

This makes her want to cheer and jump and laugh happily with excitement, though she just nods her head at him. It makes sense. From the little she's seen of him, he doesn't seem the type to flirt with strangers while he's in a relationship. He seems too sweet, respectful for that.

He's much taller than her, but that's mostly because he's just tall in general, he's much taller than Stan and he's bigger than her too. But this makes it so much worse because she can practically feel him surrounding her, can smell the slight smell of sweat that clings to his skin from playing baseball for three hours straight, and feels helpless being so close to someone, who she believes, is one of the hottest guys she's ever talked to. Fate really did these two a favor.

"Funny," Y/N's smile graces his presence once again, "I don't have a boyfriend either," He can practically feel his heartbeat in his ears, "Or a girlfriend. I didn't feel like going back to my room right away, don't really have anything to do tonight, ya know?"

They've backed up from one another only slightly. If only to put a bit of distance just so they don't spontaneously combust from the tension in the air.

"That's kind of f-fun-funny actually, I have absolutely n-nothing to do either."

This time though, he can tell that she's coming onto him, practically shouting it at him, and he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know if she's being a harmless flirt or actually is insinuating what he prays to whatever higher power that is listening that she's insinuating.

Every second is drawn out to feel like triple the time, any breath or twitch of his leg something he's so hyper-aware of, it feels like they're almost there, but there's this wall separating them and all he needs to do...all he needs to do is break through that. He thinks then, about the way he always goes about these things, the honesty and going for broke, and then about what Richie said. And he thinks to himself,  _'It'd be a shame to turn my back on the scientists,'_  and turns to unzip his duffel bag.

Y/N's face twists with confusion at him starting to dig through clothes and different supplies, her face going a little red when he lazily tosses aside his cup from one side of the bag to the other, until he finally gets his hands on what he was looking for: his wallet.

Bill shakes his head at himself softly and flips open the wallet, mumbling to himself though she hears it, "I'm going look like the biggest fucking asshole in the world..."

In his hands, held out between his index and middle finger after he tossed his wallet back into the bag, is a condom.

And Bill just  _shrugs_ , his eyes locked into her's as he looks at her with the silent offer dancing behind those vibrant blues. He was unable to do anything else but shrug, just be honest and brave and put himself in the position to maybe get kicked in the balls and let her decide. Richie was right, he needs this and she's been flirting with him this whole time. Maybe she'll be disgusted with him, at the fact that he would assume she'd hook up with a guy she just met, and storm off. But he hopes, he hopes so greatly, that she doesn't.

It happens so quickly.

The condom is snatched from his fingertips and their lips collide with a ferocity he wasn't expecting but doesn't at all complain about. Teeth clash in the heat of it all. It's sloppy and needy and desperate and everything that accumulated the moment she saw him step out onto the baseball diamond. They kiss with so much energy for two people who are as tired as they are, excitement has clearly taken over and gone is any of the exhaustion that lingered in his muscles only moments ago. No, he doesn't even notice the ache in his body when he takes her into his arms, lifts her up, and carries her to the fence that faces the field.

This is the craziest thing either of them has ever done. Even if they overlooked the stranger part of it all, they're about to have sex in public. Someone could see them and they could get arrested yet somehow that makes it so much hotter. It makes him roll his hips into her's slowly, being the infuriating tease he is, so she can feel how hard he already is for her. The fear of getting caught doesn't make him want to rush either. It makes him want to go slower, tease her, and fuck her slow, almost like a huge 'fuck you' to everyone. But he's smart enough to know this is not the time or place for that.

Y/N slides her hand down between their bodies and between where their clothed centers grind against each other in a steady rhythm. The feeling of the heel of her palm rubbing him through the material of his pants makes his eyes literally roll back into his head.

"You're so hard," She murmurs softly and for such dirty words, she makes it sound so innocent.

Their lips reconnect and this time her mouth opens for him immediately and his tongue runs along the underside of her lower lip. It keeps getting more intense, needier, and at one point she even bites down on his lip and whines- _whines_ -in desperation. It takes every ounce of control he has to wrap his hand around her wrist and gently pull her hand from the bulge on the front of his pants to be able to undress. They make quick work of each others' clothes.

Her panties are slid from underneath that taunting black dress in a matter of seconds, tossed away from them carelessly.

Greedily, stupidly, since she knows they could potentially get caught, she tugs his shirt off of his torso, needing to feel the heat of his skin against her rather than opt for subtlety. And, boy, is she happy when the clothes start coming off of him. Her head dips to kiss at his neck, making him pause and groan in reaction to her teeth scraping the sensitive skin at the base of his neck, and she takes her sweet time sucking a love bite into his pale skin. A stranger marking him as theirs, if only for the moment, makes him feel incredibly submissive to her at the moment it happens. It renders him useless. Because she found that spot that drives him utterly wild and he's moaning so desperately for her, already needy to be buried inside of her to the hilt. And he knows that now every time he sees that hickey in the mirror he's going to think of right now.

Her hands slide down his toned chest, appreciating when his stomach flinched inward at her grazing touch down to where he craves her attention, as she pulls back from his neck with red, irritated lips. It almost makes her wish they'd hurried to either of their rooms or a car first, so she could take her time exploring his body and savor it. But this will have to do, it's more than they ever expected when she strolled by the dugout anyway. This is beyond his wildest dreams. She fumbles with his belt at first with the haze of such a pleasure weighing over her and turning her eyelids heavy but manages to slip it out from around his hips soon after focusing past the slow grinding of his erection against her. Now that she's naked from the waist down, the sensation of him rocking against her so perfectly is tenfold and she's falling apart in his arms. Had he not been so taken himself by the intense wanting for her, he would've chuckled at how quickly she shoved his pants and underwear to his thighs.

It takes a minute or two for him to find the condom that she accidentally dropped when they collided and put it on. Both of them could barely keep from trembling with need the entire time.

Bill holds her up against the fence, their noses brushing as they stare into each others' eyes and everything goes to a standstill. All of this desire, passion, tension, it all crescendos in this intense stare down. She can feel his hot breath hit her neck and chest. It makes her think about how much she wants to feel it hitting her inner thighs. How much she wants to make that thought of his head between her legs a reality. But not now. No, they're too far gone for any of that and the risk is too high and they both know they will most likely not do this again. So they stare into each others' eyes as he makes the first push into her.

They're met with some resistance as he thrusts slowly, experimentally, into her. Luckily for them though, she's been turned on for what feels like forever to her and he was surprised to find how wet she was when he tugged her panties down her legs. It made him want to move his lips up and forward just a little to get a taste of that wonderful wetness he caused, but refrained. Now though, all that happened before this moment-even that deep desire to taste what he'd done to her-is gone and they're met with unending pleasure by the time he's seated inside of her completely. It makes him shake with how overwhelming it feels to at last feel her around him. How warm and tight she is, it makes him have to take a moment to pause, at the same moment she does to get used to how it feels to have him inside of her, to try to keep the shaking at bay. Already, he's so exhausted from the game and even though the current situation hides the exhaustion mentally, physically, his body is almost being pushed to the limit. But then he feels her hips nudge him, the first bit of movement since he finished pushing into her entirely, and doesn't give a shit if he collapses mid-fuck, he's doing this even if it makes him pass out from exhaustion when he gets home.

"I'm alright," Y/N exhales through the swell of pleasure that is his first real thrust in and out of her, "I'm alright, you can go harder," Her voice goes breathy, like her throat went tight, and her lips brush lazily against the surface of his, "I want you to."

But he hesitates, for the right reasons. When he initially got inside of her, she winced at the sensation that was her stretching to accommodate him. It isn't something he ever brags about, though it can make him want to smile a bit everytime Richie unironically calls him Big Bill, but he's simply self-aware. His size is above average and it can really hurt if you aren't careful.

Yet, he trusts her on this as well. He knows that any person with common sense would know or should know their own body's physical limitations and so he nods into her mouth, his tongue slipping through her lips and stifling the soft gasp that escapes her at this sudden shift.

They both know they have to be a bit quick, as quickly as they can go, so they were expecting it. At least she was. He was ready to wait, ever the gentleman, until she was fully ready despite her urgency.

It's animalistic is what it is, it's fucking in the pure sense of the word and they cannot even form coherent words let alone sentences in the wake of it. Bill fucks her against the chain-link fence so hard, it rattles with the force of it and her head tilts back from where they are making out to open her mouth in a silent gasp, eyes screwed shut. He uses one hand to brace against the fence and the other arm to wrap around her waist to keep her upright against him. He knows that if he were to let go she would be too much of a mess to keep herself steady. After all, her back is already feeling raw from being shoved relentlessly into the metal fence over and over and over again with every hard thrust he makes into her.

It's the moans that really get them though, from both him and her. Every sound she makes is so delightful and perfect and it makes him fuck her harder with every one that passes her lips. With him, holy shit, he has no idea what it does to her. The moans and grunts, the quiet groans he makes with the effort of expending so much effort and energy, make her want to moan his name. It comes to her mind for a split second that they didn't even exchange names yet, but then he thrusts up into her and her body slams into the fence and she could care less about her nameless partner. All that she cares about is the perfect feeling of him inside of her and that weightlessness that extends across her body in reaction to it.

The fence rattles harder when she throws her hand back against it, digging her fingers through the gaps in the metal to have something to hold onto that isn't him. Because her other hand is holding him by his shoulder and her fingernails have been digging into his skin since the start. He almost whimpered when they scratched hard enough to hurt the first time. So she holds onto the fence for support to spare him the pain.

Y/N tightens her legs around his body at the peak of the euphoria, when they're both starting to near that edge and he's not holding anything back, lips on her neck, her jaw, her mouth, anywhere he can get them.

"Please," She half mutters half whines into his mouth for him to give her release and the sound of it, combined with her tightening around him, makes him start barreling closer to his own end.

It's when his hand dips between their merging bodies and he begins to rub tight circles on that overly sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his fingers that she climaxes. The push she needed to really fall over that edge. It hits her with the force of an oncoming car, unending bliss in it's simplest form sluices over her entire being without mercy and it's all she wants to feel from now until the end of time. This earth-shattering disintegration that he's given her. She doesn't even register that she's whispering helpless thank you's under her breath throughout it all, but he does and it makes him closer, closer, closer. Everything she does fuels the raging flame inside of him and soon after she does, he comes with a quiet moan.

They ride it out together. Clinging to one another, hips rocking in a slow rhythm throughout their respective highs. It doesn't take long though, for the two of them for realize what they've done and that they are, in fact, strangers and start to separate. He tries to be as gentle as possible for her, but when he pulls himself out of her, she winces at the soreness and the emptiness she feels without him filling her up.

The following eight minutes of cleaning up with the towel that was in his bag and getting dressed again are almost entirely silent. It's awkward, actually. Incredibly so. Both of their masks of confidence and calm disappeared in the passion of what they did, so they're left with who they really are to pick up the pieces.

Y/N shimmies her underwear back up her legs and picks her jacket back off the floor, securing it tightly around her waist. She still can feel him in her. Can, almost perfectly, remember how he felt inside of her and it makes her shiver. It's something she wishes weren't so fleeting. Because no one has ever fucked her like that before and she wants more of him. But she'd be a fool to even let herself imagine that. He probably won't ever talk to her again. Most guys who do this kind of thing don't.

They end up facing each other in the end, sheepish smiles on their faces and bags slung over their shoulders just outside of the dugout. The sunshine feels like nothing on her skin compared to the heat she'd felt inside that dugout with him. Maybe nothing will ever compare, who knows.

He is the first open his mouth to speak, then shut it, then go, "I never got your n-nuh-name."

That smile still makes his heart quicken it's beating. Her voice still glides along him like smooth honey as she tells him the name he wish he could have known to have moaned out fifteen minutes ago.

"Y/N."

They look an absolute mess and he just knows that when he walks into his dorm room, Richie is going to lose his mind at the state of him right now. Huge, blotchy, purple hickey on the center side of his neck. Auburn hair an absolute mess from her tugging on it and running her fingers through it. He looks like he got properly fucked and he wears that look well if she's to say so herself. Meanwhile, her hair is tangled so terribly despite her efforts to brush it through (she failed) and anyone she passes on her way back to her room will see it as if she were holding a sign saying  **'I just got my brains fucked out'**  over her head.

Y/N grows nervous under his admiring gaze, the toe of her boot digging into the dirt beneath them.

"I never," She chuckles softly, "I never got yours either."

And hearing it makes her want to kiss him again, makes her want to drag him back into that dugout until neither of them can move. Putting a name to that face makes her want to drag him in there if only for the sake of being able to moan it for him that time. She keeps a leash on that want.

"Bill."

The sun is almost completely set now and is near disappearing below the horizon. Hues of orange and yellow color the sky above them.

But when she starts to walk away, he can't help himself.

"Will I see you again?" Bill asks, genuinely curious.

And unbeknownst to her, genuinely hoping he does. Little does he know as well, she'll definitely be watching more baseball here soon and she has a creeping suspicion that that means they'll have an excuse to see each other on a weekly basis. Neither of them wants this to be it. It was fantastic, so why not have another go some other time?

Except Y/N doesn't say that. She turns herself around, already halfway across the field from where he stands and smiles coyly, teasing him back.

She parrots what he'd said to her earlier, letting him suffer a little though she knows they will meet again next Sunday.

"Maybe."


End file.
